Silence.

“Oh, you’re not answering. You’ve got that hushed sound, that flushed face, those abruptly-brusque moving-your-head-around movements going. It would appear that you’re about to …”

“Oh. Oh, oh, ah, oh. ... Bastard.”

“All this time, our marriage, a child. I shouldn’t be surprised, should I? This is what we do, how we make our living. Hyperverbal streams of meaningless drivel and five-dollar vocabularies. Here, take my handkerchief. You’ll want to mop that sweat off of your upper lip.”